


I Want to Hold Your Hand

by grangerbookworm1280



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grangerbookworm1280/pseuds/grangerbookworm1280
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is singing and everyone else is extremely cofused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want to Hold Your Hand

Enjolras was singing under his breath. _Actually_ singing. No one could really figure out why, since Enjolras never really sang- except for the one day he protested the closing of the theater by belting out opera and musical numbers for 11 straight hours.  


 

Courfeyrac figured it out first, but he never really said anything about it.  


 

No one really noticed the new transfer student who started showing up to all of Enjolras' debate tournaments, bringing a sketchpad and ignoring the rest of the world..... except to say that Enjolras was wrong about something, or when he misquoted a reference. The first time he did this, the whole room got very quiet. No one had ever done that to their shining star before, and no one really knew what to do. Enjolras just smiled, corrected himself, and continued on like nothing had happened. That was the day before he started singing under his breath.  


 

The transfer's name was Grantaire, and he seemed to exist for the sole purpose of riling up Enjolras. He never went to classes, never paid attention when Javert, the Dean of the college, was yelling at him for missing yet another lecture, and was constantly sketching. Whenever anyone tried to see the sketchbook, though, he would quickly close the sketchbook and clam up tighter than before.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The next person to figure it out was Jehan, but only because he finally saw what lay inside Grantaire’s sketchbook.  


 

“You could always talk to him, ya know. Outside of correcting him and driving him mad with counterarguments.” Jehan was doodling in his own sketchbook under the willow tree on the greens, chatting with Grantaire, who had taken it upon himself to hide in the branches.  


 

“I never know what to say. I don’t think ‘Oh hi. I’m totally new and barely know you, but I’ve been obsessively drawing you for months. Let’s go fuck like rabbits.’ would work.” Jehan cackled at his hopeless little friend. Grantaire’s sarcasm had made him nearly choke on whatever he was drinking when he first became friends with Grantaire, but Jehan was used to it by now.  
“Yeah, I don’t think that would work on… What do you call him? Apollo?” At the nod from Grantaire, Jehan just smiles and shakes his head. “If he ever caught you calling him that, I think he would either go on a very long rant about the ancient Greeks, or actually might be struck silent.” A brilliant idea flared in Jehan’s head. “We’re entering your art into the school art show!”  


 

Jehan’s proclamation knocked Grantaire from the low branch he had been perched on, so mixed in with the protestations to his mad plan were quiet "Ouch"s as Grantaire catalogued the damage.  
“You’re insane! How is that even a remotely good idea?!” Grantaire flailed, terrified of seeing his art hung in the school’s gallery..... which was right next to the Debate Club’s lecture hall. Enjolras would wander through occasionally after club meetings, muttering parts of future speeches and staring at random pieces on the walls.  


 

“If he sees it, he’ll KILL me. And not just with words. He might actually kill me.” Jehan let Grantaire fret some more, and then interjected.  
“Grantaire, he won’t know it’s you!”  
“Huh?”  
“You can sign it under a pseudonym. Actually, just sign ‘R’.” Jehan giggled at his pun, and waited for Grantaire to slowly catch on.  
“R? Oh. Wait, is this one of your French jokes, Jehan?” At Jehan’s nod, Grantaire sighed, but didn’t question his friend’s judgment. He knew that Jehan would talk about nothing else until he conceded, and hey, Jehan knew Enjolras better than he did at this point.  
“Fine. I’ll go along with your plan. On one condition- I don’t show up to opening night when they present the artists and their pieces.”  
“Deal!” Grantaire smiled slightly at this, and climbed back up to his branch- he had a golden Apollo to watch, after all.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Three weeks later, the gallery opened. Its main feature was an enormous portrait that was clearly of Enjolras, but it wasn’t him at the same time. He was depicted as an angel, garbed in beautiful robes and surrounded by golden clouds touched with the roses of sunset. The artist merely signed as “R”, so no one knew who the artist was.  


 

“Combeferre, are you sure you can’t track down the artist?” Combeferre noticed the agitation creeping into his friend’s voice. As soon as Enjolras saw the portrait, he flushed red and demanded to know the artist was. No one knew, though. Enjolras would still wander through the gallery, but now he no longer sung under his breath.  


 

Time passed, and more submissions from the mysterious R came to the gallery, every time featuring Enjolras as its subject.  
With every piece that came in, Enjolras became more and more agitated, and tried harder and harder to find out who the artist was.  


 

The day that the pieces stopped appearing, Enjolras starting whistling.  


 

After a week passed and no new pieces appeared, Enjolras was skipping through the halls, and singing under his breath again.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Spring rolled around, and with it came outdoor Debate Club meetings. Grantaire stopped showing up to the meetings, but Enjolras had a feeling that he was still close by somewhere.  


 

Almost as if to confirm his suspicion, new pieces of Enjolras began appearing in the gallery again. The most memorable was viewing a golden head from behind, framed by leaves of a willow tree.  
The day after that particular piece was revealed in the gallery, Enjolras received a note from Éponine Thénardier, a friend of Marius whom he had only met very briefly.  


 

It read,  
 _To my Apollo,_  
I know you have seen my portraits of you, and have been frustrated by not seeing my face or knowing my name. Meet me under the willow tree today after your club meeting, and all will be revealed.  
Forever yours,  
R  


 

That was it. Nothing else was written there. All it took was two sentences to turn Enjolras’ face from its normal golden hue to pure scarlet.  
Anyone who walked by the Debate room for the next twenty minutes would find it strangely silent…. and would find a red-face Enjolras sitting on the floor, completely dumbstruck. He eventually got up off the floor, and as the blush faded from his cheeks, Enjolras organized his thoughts, and readied the room for the club meeting. He was strangely quiet that day, letting others take the floor for most of the meeting, and just delivering notes about the various arguments at the end of the meeting.  


 

“Enjolras, are you alright? You’ve been awfully quiet today.” Combeferre asked as they finished tidying up the classroom- Bahorel had decided that flipping a table would help his argument.  


 

“Hmm? Oh. I’m fine, Combeferre. Just a little distracted is all.”  
“Want to tell me why you were basically mute today?” Enjolras turned to look at his friend, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he tried to find the words to explain to his friend.  
“I… uh…. received an interesting note earlier today, and it kind of distracted me. Sorry if I wasn’t up to my usual form.” Combeferre still looked very curious, but didn’t press for any more details- Enjolras would tell him when he was ready.  


 

As soon as the room had been put to rights, Enjolras rushed outside, hoping the rain wouldn’t deter R from meeting him there.  
He arrived at the willow tree, but saw no one. He walked around the tree searching, and was facing the tree looking up into the branches when he heard a very familiar voice.  


 

“This was always my favorite place to watch you.” Enjolras spun quickly, not believing his eyes.  
“Grantaire?! You’re R? But… how?!”  
“R is a play on my name, you goof. If you're mad, be mad at Jehan, he's the one who thought it up. And why do you think I never let you see my sketchbook? What I’ve been trying to say this whole time was….. Well, I’ve fallen for an argumentative student with golden hair, even though he can be rather dense at times.” Grantaire almost laughed at the expressions crossing Enjolras’ features- amusement, surprise, and even a little indignation.  
“I….. but, you…. wha?” Enjolras sputtered, turning red again as he processed what Grantaire had said.  
“And I know that a certain someone had been singing a certain song under his breath for weeks at a time. Mind telling me why you were singing I Want to Hold Your Hand?”  
“I may have wanted to hold your hand?” Enjolras mumbled, looking down at the root of the willow tree.  
“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.” Grantaire smirked as he said this, knowing exactly how his Apollo would react. His eyes widened in surprise when Enjolras suddenly launched forward and kissed him.  
“I like you too, R. A lot.” By now, both men were blushing furiously, but also smiling.  
“E, you look _stunning_ when you blush.” That only made Enjolras blush more, and Grantaire didn’t help at all by drawing him into his arms and kissing him senseless.  


 

They pulled apart at the sounds of cheering, and found the entire Debate club cheering and clapping. Jehan even wolf-whistled as the two new lovers broke apart.  


 

They both blushed furiously, but moved over to their friends, and towards a happy future together.

**Author's Note:**

> So this started with a weird image of Enjolras singing "I Want to Hold Your Hand" under his breath..... and then I had to write a fanfiction for my freshman seminar course and this was born :P
> 
> Constructive criticism is encouraged! And PLEASE tell me if the spacing looks off- I'm not used to AO3's style.


End file.
